title: not a victory march
fandom: the vampire diaries
disclaimer: not mine.
word count: 703
warning: adult themes (non-con)
summary: When they find Stefan, they find Klaus.
notes: No idea how I got through this, seeing as Damon really doesn’t agree with me. At any rate, he's definitely not getting a tag. Prompt: pick. For lunaticbabe.
Last week, Stefan left town. On the heels of his new best pal and he’s too incensed at his brother’s heroics – that fucking martyr complex – to even savour the fact he’s still alive.
This week, Damon swears to find him. It’ll be a cold day in hell before he admits a debt of gratitude to his ‘lil bro, and really, he’s the only one who could ever hope to beat some sense into his pretty little head. So with one bottle of Scotch down and another cracked wide open, he drowns himself on gloom and promises.
“Life is a bitch,” he chokes. Takes another swig.
Alaric, beside him, nods.
Yeah, it is.
The two of them set off as soon as the requisite drinks have been had.
Following a trail of corpses down the east coast and back and still there’s no blood-crazed brother or psychotic hybrid in sight.
Damon curses his frustration and drives a fist into a wall.
Of course Elena catches on eventually. Demands he take her along like she’ll actually be useful and not a stupid, irritating thorn in his side.
Damon tells her this isn’t smart.
Damon tells her this will end badly.
Elena doesn’t listen.
Elena never listens.
When they find Stefan, they find Klaus.
And he’s pissed. Really, really pissed. Pissed that the doppelganger is still alive, pissed that Stefan’s old life (infuriating older brother) keeps catching up to them.
So Klaus means to end this, once and for all.
“Only one of them gets to leave with their life.”
Damon hears the words ringing, mocking, from high above, his face down, grass in his mouth and dirt caked in his nails. The heel of Klaus’ boot digs painfully into his scalp and Damon makes a low, growling noise under his breath, the humiliation making his ears turn red and his tongue taste bitter with defeat. Beside him, Elena squirms against Klaus’ grip on her hair as he pulls her close, closer.
Damon’s breath hitches.
Stefan, wound up, wired tight, swallows the exact same moment.
“Make your choice, ripper. The lovely Elena or your meddlesome brother?”
“Fuck you,” Damon snarls before Stefan has a chance to open his mouth, spitting out grass in Klaus’ face when he turns to look down at him.
It’s a sick satisfaction that consumes him at seeing the Original’s face twist in irritation, even if he does receive several broken bones and a stake in the back for it.
It is easier this way, he thinks.
Making the hard decisions has always been his specialty.
Elena is with Stefan.
Elena is safe with Stefan is all he can think as he feels his body impact hard against a tree.
And it’s enough.
Enough to make his death seem like a fucking walk in the park on a summer’s day and not like the excruciating, bone-crushing torture it really is (tiny understatement – another crack – okay, maybe a lot). Even so, it comes as an unwanted shock to his battered body when he feels Klaus pin him against a particularly wide trunk, the Original’s chest flush against his back.
Damon’s eyes widen instantly, tendons standing out on his arms as his fists clench from where they’re held above his head. “I thought you wanted to kill me, Klausy, not freaking kiss me!”
“Your pride and arrogance offend me, Mr Salvatore. I would very much like to strip you of both before your demise.”
Damon grunts, surprised he can make out the feeling of Klaus’ fingers unbuttoning his jeans through the fog of humiliation and rage that overcomes him, but he does and it’s all he can do not to squirm. Not to tug and pull.
He won’t give the bastard the satisfaction (pride, Klaus had said; Damon hates that he’s right).
“Now be a good lad, Salvatore, and I might just leave your heart intact until I have the unfortunate displeasure of seeing your ridiculous face again.”
Without further preamble, Klaus enters him. Damon lets out an (unintended) abrupt cry of despair.
Life is a bitch.
A bitch who hates him dearly and yet can never let him go.
There’s proof enough: he’s still alive.